


Explosions in the Sky

by bellax_xmuerte



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellax_xmuerte/pseuds/bellax_xmuerte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Bruce live in near-perfect harmony. At least, they did, until Bruce Hulks out in front of their young daughter and consequently vanishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

oOo

Despite our unsteady temperaments, Bruce and I had settled down with remarkable ease. No one would have believed it, not to begin with, not with who we are as people and not with the lives that we lead as Avengers. But it had happened and, by rights, it should have been a complete disaster. 

On paper, an intimate relationship between an angry-at-the-world archer and an outstanding scientist, in a permanent rage-control quandary, should have exploded as soon as it began. Except, it didn’t. You see, there’s something special, something unique, about two wildcards getting together, something which most people overlook, and that’s the simple fact that it doesn’t always end in a violent explosion. Sometimes it works perfectly and the people involved find a new kind of serenity to placate their personal turmoil. 

A man who knew all to well about that little detail was the self-proclaimed brilliance, Tony Stark. In fact, he’d gotten the ball rolling for us in the first place. Something that makes it infinitely harder for me to hate him, if we’re being perfectly honest. He’d done it in an archetypal ‘Tony’ way, by announcing, in his typically loud and obnoxious way, in front of everyone, that Bruce and I should just, ‘Go upstairs and fuck each other, already.’ 

Having grown up in a children’s home for a while, I was used to the crude remarks of others, I’d lived with a hundred little Tonys, so, I had it covered. In fact, honestly, I barely heard it, but that didn‘t stop me throwing a coaster at his face for good measure anyway. And Bruce, well, he took it much worse - his face blushed furiously, he kept his eyes trained firmly on the floor, and he scampered away, like a startled animal, as soon as he could. 

I could have killed Tony then, except I didn’t, because I realised that the whole situation gave me the perfect excuse to follow Bruce out of the room, to make sure that he was okay. Tony had realised that too, judging by the smirk on his scheming face, and I left to find Bruce. 

When I found him, tucked away in his lab, he was fine, of course he was, but he was still embarrassed. Really embarrassed. He could hardly look up at me and it made me feel awful, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. I told him not to worry about it, that he knew what Tony was like, that he could give me his embarrassment because I probably didn’t feel it enough, while he clearly felt too much. We got talking then, one thing lead to another, and after the awkward that finally settled down, he left me take him out for coffee. Then, a few weeks later, we started dating. Not that either of us had much experience in that field.

What we had, Bruce and I, and what we continue to have to this day, wasn’t normal. In fact, it’s all about a million miles away from straightforward but it works for us. It’s always worked for us; we just aren’t explosive together. Not in the bad way, at least, and that much was obvious from the start. So, once we’d been ‘going steady’ for a couple of months, we decided to take the plunge and buy an apartment together, right in the heart of the city. We were so excited about it; we didn’t even care that we’d have to pay an extortionate rent. SHIELD had just backed away, held up their hands, and said: ‘You pay for it yourselves. There’s nothing wrong with the mansion.’ And we’d both just laughed and supposed that they’d never tried to find a moments privacy in a full house.

A few weeks later, we were packing up our belongings. Everyone helped out and did what they could, except for Tony, who just stood by the door, smirking like that cat that not only got his cream but everyone else’s too. But, in retrospect, we did exactly the same, less than a year later, when we got the ball rolling between him and a certain Captain, so, no hard feelings. Anyway, I had my boxes packed in less than ten minutes. I’d never been the guy with a huge wardrobe or a sprawling action-figure collection. It just wasn’t me. Bruce, on the other hand, had too many boxes to count. There must have been at least twenty boxes filled with books alone. No to mention the dozens that were crammed full with his sciencey stuff. But, somehow, that seemed to work for us too. And I remember thinking, if we mixed all of our boxes together, we’d probably have the usual amount of boxes that a normal, non-Avenging, couple had. It was a simple thought, but it made me smile anyway.

But, the fact was, we weren’t a non-Avenging couple, were we? So, we had other baggage to consider - Hulk-sized baggage, if we’re being specific in labelling things. Bruce and I had had ‘The Talk’ at least a hundred times by this point. And he was, finally, starting to believe that I wasn’t afraid of him. Which was, and remains to be, the absolute truth. One hundred percent. Without a shadow of a doubt. Sure, I’m not going to lie to you, the first few times that he’d hulked out on the job it was a little unnerving to witness. However, and I can’t stress this enough, with time came the realisation that the Hulk had saved Hawkeye’s ass more times than I could count. And I believed that there was something in that - something honest, something good, something true. The Hulk wasn’t the thoughtless monster that SHIELD had branded him, I’d seen that early on, with my own eyes.

We’d been a team for just under two weeks when Bruce had accidentally hulked out in his lab. And, as we know, people fear what they don’t understand, so, panic broke out in seconds. I’m talking: sirens, alarms, screaming, shouting, praying, crying, the lot. These people were trained agents for God‘s sake, it was a mess. And all I could think, as I stood opposite a newly transformed Bruce was, ‘I hope to God that it doesn’t hurt you.’ And then, ‘They really do think you’re a monster, don’t they?’ And, as terrified people fled the scene, heavily armed agents burst in and surrounded the both of us, urging me to run for my life. It was then that the most powerful protective urge I‘d ever experienced surged straight through me.

The Big Guy had just stood there, confusion filling up his wide eyes, as he looked at the guns they’d aimed at him. He looked so helpless and I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. We were a team now. Bruce seemed nice enough, not that I really knew him then, and I wasn’t about to just leave him there. So, without moving, I calmly told the agents to back the fuck up, unless they wanted me to shatter all of the bones in their stupid little bodies, one by one. It took them about ten minutes to move, they didn’t have permission to fire at him if I was in the way and I wasn’t going anywhere, so, they had no choice really. Nevertheless, they went out of the door muttering about ‘death wishes’ and ‘suicidal tendencies’ and, who knows, maybe they were right, I had no one to balance me out back then.

But anyway, I was a realist, so, I could see that, for overall peace of mind, I needed to move him away from the communal areas. So, I tried to talk him into the glass containment unit - by the way, those are just fancy words for a cage - not knowing if he could even understand me. The cage was something that SHIELD had built for him and it was something that the whole team had strong opinions on. Even everything’s-for-the-greater-good Steve Rogers had complained about it repeatedly - ‘How is building a cage going to convince Bruce that he’s not a monster? Or that he’s a part of the team? Did you even think about that? Do you even care?’

Anyway, my coaxing didn’t go well at first. Though, as soon as I climbed onto a table and looked The Bug Guy square in the eye I had his full attention. And as I stood there, with my hands stretched out in a way which showed him I meant no harm, I promised him that I wouldn’t leave him alone in that stupid cage. I told him how the how the whole team hated it, how him hating it too was more than fair, and I told him that I wouldn’t leave him until he was okay and Bruce was back with us. After that, well, he’d just followed me out the door. I felt like the pied piper - except, the Hulk wasn’t a rat and I had no musical talent to speak of. He knew that I was telling him the truth. Anyone who thinks that the Hulk is brainless is dumber than they think he is. He’s different, that’s all he is, and aren’t we all different, in some way or another? Last time I checked, variety wasn’t a crime.

So, what I’m really saying is, the Hulk wasn’t a problem, not for me, and before we knew it, Bruce and I had moved into our new apartment. It wasn’t a fantastic place - Tony had seen it and said, ‘Oh, okay.’ It wasn’t a huge space - Steve had seen it and called it ‘beautifully quaint’. But it was ours, that’s what really mattered, and we spent almost every moment that we had decorating and rearranging furniture until we were one hundred percent happy with it. And after that? Well, we just.. settled. It was that simple; it was that easy.

Then, when you add a couple of happy years into the mix, naturally, you start asking each other questions. Really important questions. Questions about marriage. Questions about children. So, that became our next step. We decided against marriage, it wasn’t really our thing, but having children was a different matter altogether. It was something we both considered to be much bigger and infinitely more challenging. And once we’d talked about it, really talked about it, I mean, we wanted it. Even Bruce did, despite his initial fear that he’d be an unsafe father. And I don’t know if it’s even possible for men to feel broody, but we both did. 

So, together, we called the local adoption agency. We’d read about surrogacy, about finding a kind-hearted woman to carry our child to term but I felt, and still feel, so strongly about adoption. Having lived in an orphanage, I couldn’t overlook the possibility and neither could Bruce. I’d talked to him frankly, about the good kids that were victims of circumstance and deserved a good life too. About the children who got lost in the system and about those who developed and matured without ever having had consistent love from an adult-figure. And, so, we agreed, almost instantly, that we wanted to adopt.

We didn’t tell anyone about our plans, not even our closest friends; we knew how disappointing the process could be and how long it took the agencies to find the perfect parents for a child and their own needs. It was a waiting game. So, we waited, and time slipped right by - month, after month, after month. Though, we never forgot, it was always there, both between us and in the pits of our stomachs.

Then, one day, we received a call. It was the agency, asking us if we’d like to read the file of a little girl whose parents had just died in a car crash. Her name was Cleo, she was three years old, and she was residing in emergency foster care. Of course, we said yes, that we’d read the file as soon as it could be given to us and that’s how we ended up with our beautiful daughter. 

 

oOo

 

For a six year old, Cleo was smart and she was only getting smarter. Bruce and I weren’t sure whether it was because she was naturally curious and precocious, or whether it has something to do with the fact that her head was constantly being filled up with waves of complex information. 

It wasn’t unusual for her to come home from Tony and Steve’s place babbling about renewable energy and particles, while clutching a painting that looked more like the work of Georges Seurat than your average child’s finger-painting. She could talk to Natasha is Russian, just as easily as she could talk to the rest of us in English, and she was teaching her old dads a thing or two about languages, no doubt about it. Cleo also had an enviable imagination, something that was constantly being fed by the stories that Thor told her about eight-legged horses, frost giant and great, golden halls. And it wasn’t unusual to find her helping Bruce out with his simple, non-dangerous, experiments. Or to find her running around the apartment with her plastic bow and arrows in hand. And, in a way, I supposed that she’s the best parts of all of us. 

Her only downfall, if you could even call it that, was her fear of thunder. Thor had tried to explain in to her once and Bruce and Tony had backed his claims up with science, but it still upset her. Science wasn’t going to prevent the sky from cracking and exploding, was it? But we dealt with it, it’s not like it rained all the time. And, when it did, she’d just climb up into our bed, squeeze herself between us, and fall asleep again. Thunder was only half as scary when she had her Daddy and her Dad beside her.

Nevertheless, in a bid to make her understand that fearing something was perfectly normal and okay, we’d all shared one of our fears with her. Mostly, we went with simple things, because, yes, it was a valuable lesson for her to learn but, at the end of the day, she was still a child. She didn’t need to be exposed to a world of horror and adult fears. Saying things like ‘clowns’ and ‘the dark’ was more than enough for her. She didn’t need to know that I feared clowns because of my time in the circus, just like she didn’t need to know that Tony feared the dark because he’d been kidnapped by terrorists and kept in a dark cave, for months on end. And Bruce, unsurprisingly, had gone with ‘really big animals’, because it wasn’t as if he was going to say, ‘turning into the Hulk and hurting you and your Dad’, to his baby girl, was it? And, technically, Cleo didn’t know anything about the Hulk. Not a thing. Except she did. She knew almost everything.

Unafraid of the Hulk I may have been, but I was, and remain, a strident realist. It was very likely that, during the course of her life, Cleo would catch sight of her Daddy turning into The Big Guy. And I just wanted her to be prepared for the possibility, you know? I didn’t want it to scare her half to death when it happened. And I didn’t tell Bruce about it because, well, I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t trust him, or understand him, because I did and I still do. I really, really do and the whole thing had nothing to do with that. The Hulk was just something that happened to Cleo’s Daddy occasionally and, just in case she caught sight of it happening in person, I wanted her to have a good understanding of it. But, above all else, I didn’t want her thinking that her Daddy was a monster. He wasn’t. He was, and continues to be, the best part of our lives.

So, with the help of Steve - who created a number of beautifully rendered drawings and diagrams for me - I explained the Hulk to our daughter. No one knew about our little lessons. No one but me and Cleo and Steve, that is. And we’d just go over the information together, again and again. Usually once a month, just like we did with the fire drill, just to make sure that she still understood and that she was still happy.

As chance would have it, we’d been going over the information on the day that it had happened. Bruce had gone out, in the midst of a heavy downpour, to help Tony with a complicated science crisis. And I found myself home alone, making dinner, with Cleo perched on top of the counter, right next to me, Steve’s drawings clasped tightly in her little hands. Her pink knuckles turning a ghostly white.

“So,” I‘d started, “Sometimes your Daddy is which colour?”

“Green!” Cleo had laughed brightly. Her deep brown eyes shining up at me hopefully, as her wide smile tugged warmly at the corners of her expressive mouth.

“That’s my girl.” I’d said, smiling at her in return, “That’s exactly right.”

“And is Daddy small when he’s green or is he big?” I’d asked then and I could see her out of the corner of my eye, looking carefully at the pictures in her hands.

“Daddy is BIG.” She’d confirmed conclusively, her feet swinging as she talked.

“How big is he, sweetheart?” I’d enquired then, grabbing a fist full of basil and stirring it into the saucepan.

“As big as the ceiling!” She’d said easily.

“That’s right.” I’d confirmed, “You’re so clever, aren’t you, angel?”

“Uh-huh.” She’d nodded, unabashed, her laughter fluttering through the air.

“And you’re modest too, just like your old man.” I’d said, with a proud smile.

“And,” I’d continued then, “What is Daddy?” 

I watched her then, as she looked at another of Steve’s cards and then another.

“Daddy is a science man and a superhero!” Cleo had gushed, after a beat, and wonder had filled up her little face.

“That’s right, angel. Your Daddy is a scientist and he’s a hero. And what isn’t Daddy?” I’d prompted, after turning the cooker down to a low heat and giving her my full attention.

“Daddy isn’t a bad man.” Cleo had said then, with an absolute finality that made me proud and my heart pound.

“That’s right. And why don’t we talk to Daddy about this?” I‘d asked, pointing to the drawings and then gently cupping one of my daughter’s cheeks. 

“Because he thinks it‘s bad.” Cleo had said seriously and I smiled, “That’s right.”

“Is the Hulk a bad man?” I asked finally, leaning back into the counter, next to my little girl, an arm around her waist.

“No.” Cleo had stated quickly, recognition sparking in her eyes before she looked up at me and, together, we repeated our little mantra: “It’s not bad to be different.” 

After that, I’d kissed her cheek, ruffled her dark, unruly hair and picked her up. Hugging her tightly and swaying with her in my arms before I set her back down, onto the floor. 

“Listen, I’ll make you a deal. If you go and put Uncle Steve’s pictures away, in the secret drawer, I’ll get you some ice cream. Deal?” I offered and Cleo had happily skipped out of the kitchen and towards her room. She’s was, and continues to be, a good little girl. And that was about to show more than ever.

oOo


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for leaving such lovely comments on the first part! I'd love to hear from other Clint/Bruce fans - either on here or on tumblr! (nataliescourageclub.tumblr.com).

oOo

When Bruce had walked through the door his clothes were soaked through. I remember it perfectly, the sight of him. He looked awful, half-drowned, his hair defeated and stuck haphazardly to this forehead, his damp skin glistening under the low lighting of our apartment. In fact, if I’m being completely honest, he looked about ten minutes away from pneumonia and a trip to the hospital. 

Naturally, as soon as Cleo had heard the door open, she’d leapt up from her position on my lap and skipped straight over to her Daddy. Her eager arms outstretched and thrust upwards, asking to be picked up. Bruce had just frowned at her apologetically as he jutted out a hand to stop her half-way. She almost tripped over her feet, as she tried to stop mid-step, and Bruce and I had jerked forward instinctively, as if that alone would have been enough to catch her if she’d fallen. But she didn’t fall, instead she balanced herself out and stared up at Bruce in absolute disbelief, her face a picture of petulance, her little arms reaching out to him again. 

“No, baby.” Bruce had said then, regret absolutely dripping from his voice, “You’ll get wet if I touch you. I wouldn’t want to do that, sweetheart.” He’d explained carefully and Cleo had just frowned up at him, her little brow furrowing tightly in confusion before she’d turned around to look at me, utterly astonished. 

It didn’t take long for Bruce to follow suit and, suddenly, the two loves of my life were staring right at me, both of them completely helpless in their own ways. Both wide-eyed and lost. Both longing for the touch of the of the other. Both yearning. Bruce had always been physically affectionate, that little fact always seemed to shock people but it was true. He’d greet his friends with a tight, close hug - something that he still does to this day - and he’d leave in the same manner. And then there was Cleo, our little girl who was so used to been hugged and touched a patted on the head that she felt brushed aside when it didn‘t, or couldn’t, happen. The girl who’d throw herself bodily into the arms of Tony or Steve or Natasha or Thor without a second thought. So, anyway, I did the only thing I could in that situation, I tried to make them both feel better about it. At least that way, I figured, they’d stop staring at me like lost kittens.

“Cleo,” I’d ventured, “Daddy just needs to dry himself off and then you can hug him, okay?” She thought about it for a while and then she slowly nodded, still a little unhappy, her body swaying ever-so-slightly from side to side. 

After that, she turned back to Bruce and there was no doubt about it, she was giving him the sad face. The face that could make your steely resolve spontaneously combust in a millisecond. I could tell by the way Bruce’s eyebrows raised sadly as he looked at her.

“I don’t want you to get sick, baby.” He’d confided then - just as I noticed a small puddle of water forming around his feet. He really was soaked through; it was awful and it’s not like he’d walked home, he’d come home in the car. This was just the result of him walking around the block from the car park. I can tell you now, the weather hadn’t been that bad for a long time. And, ultimately, what that really meant was a thunder storm. I looked down at Cleo and wondered if she‘d be wedged between us in our bed that night. Probably, I’d decided, and that was okay.

“Oh.” Cleo had said in reply to Bruce; looking down at the widening pool of water around her Daddy’s feet before she’d smiled brightly up at him and skipped away. And if I’d learnt anything as a parent, it was that children’s emotions are extremely changeable. They aren’t great at holding grudges, or keeping scores, they live entirely in the moment. They roll with the punches. They get on with it. There’s definitely something to be learned there. And, while I‘m on the subject, those people who think that children are inferior to adults are idiots, plain and simple. Our kids are clever in ways we can’t even dare to be.

“You look awful.” I’d said to Bruce, as soon as Cleo was out of earshot, and Bruce had just laughed - a deep, honest-to-God laugh - “Oh, thanks. It’s nice to see you too!”

“Seriously,” I’d replied with a smile, “Go and dry yourself off and be quick about it, I made your favourite for dinner.” 

“You’re perfect.” Bruce had moaned, in quiet appreciation, and then - as if on cue - his stomach had started to grumble, loud and long.

“Jesus, Bruce, didn’t Tony feed you?” I’d said playfully, “You were gone for seven hours.” 

“You and I both know that Tony doesn’t have a clue where his kitchen is.” He’d grinned back brightly; before his mouth fell into its usual, soft smile, “Steve was thoughtful enough to bring us trays of food, it looked delicious and the aroma was exquisite, but Tony and I were just so busy with all the -”

“Science.” Bruce and I said together and then he’d laughed again. The corners of his tired eyes creasing; his lips parting as he grinned. God, I remember thinking to myself, I really do love you, Bruce. No doubt about it.

“Yeah.” He’d reaffirmed then, before he inclined his head a fraction and slipped away into our bedroom - with a look that said ‘I’ll be right back’ - to dry himself off and put on some warm clothes. 

I went and found Cleo in the kitchen, happily shooting plastic arrows at our cabinets, smiling away to herself. And I remember standing in that doorway, watching her play, and thinking to myself, that’s my daughter, that‘s my baby girl. And in that moment, I treasured my little family, really treasured it, I mean. My perfect family that, on paper, didn’t stand a chance. And I felt alive. I felt gifted. Every bad thing that had ever happened to me simply faded away into nothingness.

When Bruce emerged from our bedroom he was dressed in his warmest pyjamas and rubbing at his hair with a fluffy, white towel. His skin wasn’t quite as pale as it had been and he no longer looked on the verge of serious illness, so, that had definitely been something.

“That’s much better.” I’d offered, as he walked towards me, consequently grabbing Cleo’s attention. She threw her plastic bow to the floor and sprinted over to him. I could have been offended by that but I wasn’t, I’d choose Bruce over archery too. Every single time.

“Hey, beautiful.” Bruce had whispered then, dropping the towel that he held in his hands to the floor, getting down on his knees and wrapping Cleo up in his arms. In return, she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek, and sighed, “Daddy!” Order was restored.

“I missed you and your Dad today,” Bruce had muttered into her dark hair, glancing up at me, “I hope you guys didn’t have too much fun without me?”

“No way,” I’d replied quickly, offering him an honest smile, “There’s no fun without Daddy, is there, angel?” 

“Nuh-uh.” Cleo had said, shaking her head fiercely. 

“Come on,” I’d smiled then, “Dinner’s ready and on the table in five.”

 

oOo

 

It must have been around midnight when Bruce and I finally managed to climb into our bed. Our heads had barely settled onto our pillows when a burst of thunder echoed through the sky. I’d shuffled closer to Bruce then, wrapped an arm securely around his body, and together we waited. Listening in the darkness.

It only took about two minutes before we heard it. The sound of tiny footsteps padding towards our door. I’d leant forwards then, pressed a lingering kiss to the back of Bruce’s neck, before doing the same to his shoulder. Breathing in his t-shirt as our bedroom door was pushed open by unmistakably tiny hands. 

“Dad?” Cleo had whispered into the darkness, “Daddy?” It’s then that Bruce had reached out and flicked on our bedside lamp. A soft orange light flooding the room.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Bruce had said, sitting up a little, I did the same, “We’re right here.”

“Come on up, angel, there’s plenty of room.” I’d reassured her as she walked towards us, pushing our covers down a little to allow her entrance. Bruce hoisted her up and she climbed over him, settling herself down between us both. I pulled the covers back up, over her body, and Bruce brushed her hair away from her face as he said, as soft as always, “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

It didn’t take long, it never did, and when she’d been asleep for a while Bruce turned the light off again and we settled back into our pillows. Our daughter’s breathing guiding us both into a sound sleep.

We’re all deep sleepers, we always have been, except for Cleo when the weather’s bad. So, the next time I open my eyes, I expect it to be morning. Except it’s not because it’s still way too dark outside. And, at first, I had absolute no idea why I was awake. Then it’d all kicked off.

A huge bang, like an explosion, had ripped through the air and Cleo had let out an almighty scream. My eye’s had flown open again, my heart pounding violently as adrenaline pumped through my veins. I scrambled upwards and reached out hastily, flicking the light on and spinning around to look at Cleo. 

As I did, another burst of thunder boomed through the sky and Cleo screamed again. All of the hairs on my body stood to attention, like regimented soldiers on my skin, I remember shuddering, I remember the rush of it. And that’s when I realised, that’s when I realised that Bruce wasn’t in our bed. 

It was seconds later, when I‘d heard it, an animalistic cry that resounded from the bottom of our bed. Bruce was down there. His skin tinged with green. His body hunched over our dresser. My heart had continued to pound and then, suddenly, Bruce wasn’t Bruce anymore. He was the Hulk. He let out a painful cry and I winced.

When I looked over at Cleo, her eyes were wide with wonder and fear, I’d shuffled over to her then, my legs half-trapped by the sheets. And, just as I’d touched her, another bought of thunder boomed through the sky. The Hulk growled and Cleo let out an ear-splitting cry. Her mouth open wide, just like her eyes.

“Shhh. Cleo, it’s okay.” I’d said urgently, “It’s okay, angel, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” I continued to promise as the Hulk smashed our bedroom dresser to pieces. Heavy drawers falling to the floor as bits of broken wood hit the wall with a deep thud.

“Dad!” Cleo had wailed, and then, “Daddy!” And that’s when I’d realised that she was staring at the Hulk. I pressed her head to my chest.

“It’s just thunder, you’re okay, sweetheart.” I’d offered desperately but her screaming hadn’t stop because another clap of thunder had resounded around us. I held onto her, as tight as I could, and I could feel her whole body shaking. Her skin shuddering violently against mine. She was so scared that it scared me and, suddenly, the Hulk was staring at her in complete confusion. He’d never met Cleo and I was very aware of that little fact in that moment.

“Hey, big guy.” I’d said, frantically appealing to him, Cleo still sobbing against me, “We need Bruce back. He needs to help me here.” 

“Daddy!” Cleo had screamed over at the Hulk, one of her hands reaching out to him. Then the thunder had struck again and she’d let out another ear-piercing scream. The Hulk recoiled violently and backed away. Heading towards the large, four-pane window of our room. I clung to Cleo, running a comforting hand up and down her shoulder.

“Please, don’t go. It’s okay.” I’d promised the Hulk, cradling little Cleo to my chest. She was still crying. I couldn’t leave her to go over to him, I couldn’t have done anything but stay exactly where I was and he wouldn’t stop staring at her. 

As a finally burst of thunder had echoed through the sky, Cleo had cried out one last time, the Hulk had cried out too and then he’d hurtled himself towards the window. Flinging his huge, jade body through the thick glass. My heart had plummeted into my stomach then, but I’d registered the Hulk’s intent early enough to shield Cleo as glass flew around our bedroom. And then, I’d been left there, on our bed, surrounded by broken glass and cradling our terrified daughter.

“Cleo?” I’d whispered quickly, staring down at the little girl who was curled into me.

“Cleo, you need to let me know that you’re not hurt?” I’d urged. Cleo mumbled into my chest. I pulled away from her, just enough to hear her bruised voice.

“I peed.” She cried sadly up at me and I kissed her hair. Clinging to her in relief.

“It’s okay, angel. It’s okay. We can fix that. Are you hurt?” I’d asked again and she shook her head. The sky was finally silent. The explosions had finally stopped. Silence fell heavily around us.

“Good girl.” I’d said, “We’ll take you to the bathroom and fix you up. Okay?” 

I’d stood carefully then, Cleo bundled easily in my arms, avoiding the scattered shards of glass as I carried our daughter away from the chaos. 

When we reached the bathroom, after a quick stop in Cleo’s room for clean clothes, her tears had dried up. I sat our little girl next to the sink and started to clean her up, talking to her as I did.

“Are you still scared?” I’d asked first and she’d shook her head.

“Good girl. Can you tell me what scared you, sweetheart?” I’d enquired quietly.

“The sound.” Cleo had mumbled and I’d nodded.

“You mean the thunder, outside?” I’d tried.

“The sky.” Cleo had said miserably and I’d smiled down at her.

“That’s okay, it’s all over now. Did Daddy scare you, when he was the Hulk?” I’d asked carefully then, because I had to, didn‘t I?

“Nuh-Uh. It was just like the pictures.” Cleo had replied quickly, with her usual wide and curious eyes.

“Like in Uncle Steve’s pictures, you mean?” I‘d said, slipping her clean clothes on as she nodded.

“Is Daddy, okay?” Cleo had asked then and I picked her hands up in mine.

“He’ll be just fine, angel. Do you remember, in the drawings, it said that Daddy was good at climbing when he was green?” I reminded her and she’d nodded quickly.

“He just climbed away,” I'd explained to her, “He went to tell the thunder to keep it down.” 

“He did?” Cleo had said in amazement.

“You bet he did. He’s probably shouting at the sky right now. Telling it that his little girl is trying to sleep.” I’d explained, as I brushed her dark hair away from her face.

“When is he coming back?” Cleo had asked then, as I picked her up.

“He’ll be back tomorrow morning, angel.” I’d promised her, just before I carried her into the living room and we fell asleep, curled up together on the sofa. Not knowing that it wasn’t going to be that straightforward. Not knowing that it wasn’t going to be that easy. Not this time. 

oOo


	3. Chapter 3

ooOoo

The next morning, nothing felt different, in fact, everything felt exactly the same. I didn’t wake with a start or a funny feeling deep inside my belly. The were no bad omens waiting for me in the cutlery drawer. There wasn’t a misfortunate number of birds gathered outside our window. Bruce’s picture hadn’t ominously fallen from the wall with a foreboding crash. The huge mirror in our bedroom was completely, miraculously, undamaged. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to suggest that anything was wrong. Not one of those fabled warning signs - spun by those antediluvian spinsters - had seemed applicable. It wasn’t even raining outside. 

Now, I know what you’re thinking, because I’d thought it too, so much for the karmic cautioning system of the mystic universe, right? Well, that would really bother me later. When I had a moment alone; when I had time to really think about it. When everything was restored. When Cleo was tucked up in bed. When Bruce was back home and soundly asleep beside me, the soft rise and fall of his chest subsiding the irrational, childlike fear that rose up in me sometimes. It would bother me because I hadn’t _felt_ it coming and there wasn’t a tangible sign for me to see. And I couldn’t understand that. How I could love someone, so completely, and still not be connected to them intuitively, spiritually, mystically? After that, I worried that I might have missed something, maybe a crucial - though seemingly insignificant - detail. Which was somehow worse, because I am the details, details are my job. The notion that something could have been drastically wrong with Bruce and I’d just _gone about my day_ , completely unaware, was horrifying to me. But, as it turned out, that’s exactly the way that it had happened. 

As soon as I’d opened my eyes, I’d slid from beneath Cleo, stretched the knotted-ache out of my muscles and headed for our bedroom. I managed to get dressed, wash my face and brush my teeth before Cleo appeared at the bathroom door. Her messy hair jutting out at odd angles; making her look like a sleepy child-medusa. She had her arms outstretched when I‘d turned around. So, I’d picked her up and carried her into the kitchen. Sure, she could have walked but I’m her Dad and her Daddy was out and the night before she’d been so scared that she’s had an accident, so, I cut the kid some slack. I made her breakfast, brushed her hair and settled her down, at the coffee table, with a fist full of wax crayons. It kept her busy, it always did, and it gave me enough time to clean up the mess that the Hulk had made of our bedroom. 

Between carefully wrapping shards of broken glass in old newspaper, boarding up empty window frames and playing with Cleo as often as I could, the time soon ticked away. Before I even realised it, the central hours of the day were gone; faded into obscurity. And it was only when my phone had beeped, to tell me that it was time to make a start on dinner, that I realised it was almost five o’clock. 

It was almost five o’clock, in the evening, and Bruce still hadn’t come home. He hadn’t even called. Now, I’m not going to lie to you, I started to panic. Really panic, I mean. I remember feeling like a bucket of ice-cold water had been tipped over my head. Like the waves of a choppy sea had pulled me under and I could barely keep my thoughts afloat and in order. Bruce had never been gone for so long without calling me. Even on the job. Even when he’d been kidnapped. He was thoughtful and selfless; he didn’t like to worry others or be a ‘nuisance’. 

So, where was Bruce? Was there something wrong with him? Had something happened to him? Why hadn’t I felt it in my bones? Was he hurt? Was he out there hurting while I carried on in our apartment like everything was fine? 

I think I managed to hold myself together for just over fifteen minutes. Then I’d caved and called Tony and Steve. I probably didn’t sound half as composed as I’d tried to be while I spoke to Tony. And I’m sure that the tremble of my fingertips wasn’t unnoticed either - as the plastic of the phone knocked loudly against my face again and again. And Tony was quiet, quieter than he’d ever been, when I told him that there’d been an incident and that Bruce hadn’t come home. He didn’t have a sarcastic thing to say to me when I’d said, with a stutter, that I didn’t know what to do and that I didn’t know what I was doing. He’d just told me to hold tight, he’d told me that they were already on their way. And they must have been because, just before I hung up the phone, I heard the jingle of keys and a car start.

Within ten minutes, Tony and Steve were stood at the door of our apartment. The first thing I noticed, was the fact that Steve’s hair was damp and his skin seemed almost wet, like he’d jumped out of the shower. The second thing I noticed, was the fact that Tony’s fingers were covered in dark ink. I’d obviously interrupted them and suddenly I felt bad. What if I was simply overreacting? They were both busy people and I’d dragged them away from their downtime. I remember feeling my face fall a little then, before Steve had cleared his throat and said, “Clint, we weren’t doing anything that we can’t do later. You come first. So does Bruce; so does Cleo.”

I’d ushered them both inside then and five minutes later Tony was pacing up and down our hallway, talking hurriedly into his phone about security cameras and visual tracking. I wanted to make a joke about him wearing the floor away but I couldn’t fit it together right. While Steve - thank God for Steve - had little Cleo on his lap. I remember watching him as he bounced her up and down with undeniable ease, a cascade of untainted laughter tumbling past her parted lips. I remember wondering how worried I looked because Steve was offering me _the smile_ as he held my daughter and made her laugh. It was a smile that said a thousand different things in a thousand different ways, depending on what an individual needed from it. And, in that moment, I’d needed it to promise me that everything was going to be okay and that’s exactly what it did. Magnanimous bastard.

Sometime after that, I remember walking towards the window. My feet felt heavy, unusual and unused. I remember staring out at the sprawling city and the jagged skyline. The buildings looked like broken, crooked teeth. I remember wondering if Bruce was out there somewhere, lost in the jaws of city. I’m not sure how long I stood there, gazing blankly at the horizon, and I don’t remember the moment Tony’s voice stopped ghosting through the air around me but by the time Steve had pulled me out of my stillness, with a firm but gentle hand to the shoulder, the sun was gone. 

But I could heard Tony’s voice again then; he was asking Cleo if she wanted to help him with an experiment. She let out an enthusiastic ‘uh-huh’ and off they went. As soon as they were both in the kitchen, and safely out of earshot, Steve had squeezed my shoulder in support and said, “He’ll come home, Clint. He’ll be back.” And, suddenly, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering how many times he must have said that to himself back in the war.. and how many times he must have been wrong. 

I wanted to say something to him then, I wanted to let him know that I hoped so too, but my throat was dry, too dry, dry enough that it hurt to swallow, dry enough that it hurt to whisper, “But what if he doesn’t?” And Steve had looked at me then, in the way a child looks at a puzzle, before he let his brow furrow.

“Nothing hurts the Hulk. He’ll be okay. He’ll be safe.” Steve had tried hopefully and I’d turned to glance at him then, at the resolute conviction that danced in his eyes. Eyes that were framed oh-so-carefully by slanted brows and delicate creases. Eyes that had probably seen more horror than anyone else’s. Yet, somehow, despite that, he’d remained so moral, so good and so true. Somehow, those eyes of his could still hold such compassion and empathy and, well, I’d wondered then what they might have looked like before Steve had seen things he shouldn’t have. When he was nothing but a hopeful little brat running around Brooklyn. When he was nothing more than the little kid who liked to draw and who hated bullies. Were his eyes even brighter back then? Was that even possible? Or were they a reaction? The product of what they had seen?

“Oh, sure,” I’d said eventually, slowly. Gaining a little more control over my own voice, “The Hulk will be fine. But what if _Bruce_ doesn’t want to come home?” 

“Why wouldn’t he want to come home?” Steve had asked then, noticeably confused, “He’s got you and Cleo. He’s got a good life here, a happy life.” 

“But…” I’d started nervously, muttering my words like a hot confession, “She was screaming at him. Kind of.” 

“Who? Cleo?” Steve had asked then, his face contorting a little.

“She was so scared.” I’d remembered sadly.

“She was scared of the Hulk?” Steve had asked carefully, evenly, in a way that only he could. In a way that said: I can fix it either way, don’t worry.

“No,” I’d said then, “No. She was scared of the thunder. But the Hulk isn’t going to notice the difference, is he? He’s going to think he’s scared her and then it‘ll filter through in parts to Bruce and suddenly it’s a reality, isn’t it? The one thing that he fears most in the world. That he’s a monster. That he’s dangerous. That he’s a danger to us all.” I‘d finished heavily, my heart pounding violently beneath my ribs. And before Steve could even interject, and say something perfectly heroic, from behind us, a little voice said, “It’s not bad to be different.” 

And you have to remember that I was already feeling emotional, way too emotional, in fact, I was so over over-emotional that my eyes had filled to the brim within seconds. Steve must have seen it too, in my body somehow, even as I stared away from him and out of the window, because he turned me around then and he wrapped his arms firmly around my body.

“She.. wanted to get her notebook.” Tony had offered then, apologetically, my face still pressed firmly into Steve’s chest.

“It’s okay.” Steve had said reassuringly, his mellifluous voice filling up the empty spaces in the room. I’m not sure who those words were directed at but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was all of us.

“You’re a smart girl, those are very wise words.” I‘d heard Tony say then, no doubt bending down to pick Cleo up, if the click of his knees was anything to go by, “Who taught you that?”

“Dad, he says it all the time.” Cleo had offered then and Tony had paused, just for a moment, before he said, “Shall we go and make something nice to cheer your old man up?” And then he’d lead her back out of the room.

“Cleo’s right.” I’d whispered into Steve’s shoulder then, “Everyone is so damn scared of him but he’s not a monster, Cap. He’s not. He’s so gentle. He’s so loving and I- I just-”

“Hey, what did we write on those cards for Cleo, huh? We wrote that he’s a hero. He is a hero. And he will come back. Natasha is out there looking for him right now. She’ll bring him home. She‘ll bring him back.” Steve had said then as he ran a large, soothing hand up and down my back.

“I miss him.” I’d offered quietly in return, hoping to somehow explain the reason why I was half-pressed against him, “It’s stupid, but I miss him. It’s… I’ve never not known where he was before, you know?” 

“I know and it’s okay, it’s not stupid. You know that I know how it feels. You know what Tony’s like. For a man who’s so entwined with technology it’s amazing how often he can’t seem to pick up the damn phone.” Steve had said then and I’d laughed a little. Eventually pulling back to exhale and rub at my eyes. Steve let me go, but he kept a warm palm pressed against the curve of my back. Making sure I didn’t move too far away from him. And it’s those little things that make him a leader.

“What am I supposed to do?” I’d asked him then, almost helplessly, and Steve had smiled, “You go and play with your daughter and, before you know it, Bruce will be back home.”

“Is that an order, Cap?” I’d said quietly, giving him a look that I hoped he understood, my head pounding along with my heart, and he must have because the next thing he said was, “You’ve got it. That’s an order, Barton.”

ooOoo

It was three minutes after eight when Tony received the call. I know that’s the time that it happened because I’d been watching the clock when Black Sabbath’s _Iron Man_ had echoed around us. Tony had stood quickly, excused himself from the room and answered the call two rings later. Leaving Steve and I behind to stare at the doorway, while Cleo finished the painting she’d been working in with Steve. I hadn’t done much, other than sit around and catalogue all the awful things that might have happened to the love of my life.

Tony was gone for the longest three minutes of my life before he had re-emerged, stuffing his phone into the pocket of his jeans. When he looked up, he was hard to read, he wore an odd mixture of emotions and body language. He wasn’t giving anything away. I supposed that that’s what happens when you spend your life in the spotlight.

“Has she found him?” I’d asked quickly, my voice barely a second from cracking. 

“Yes.” He’d said, though his hesitation spoke volumes.

“But?” I’d said, as a pang of fear hit me square in the face.

“But he’s refusing to see anyone.” Tony had said evenly, though his eyes weren’t as calm as his posture seemed. They were expressive, his eyes, just like Steve’s, only they were much different in what they were saying and equally compassionate.

“Where is he?” I’d asked then, hoping to God he was somewhere safe. I could deal with the rest as long as I knew he was okay.

“SHIELD headquarters.” Tony had offered.

“What? Why?” I’d said in genuine confusion. Steve made a noise, like he was two steps ahead of the game and had seen Bruce make a move he didn’t like.

“Because the only way he’d leave with Natasha was if she promised to lock him in a cell.” Tony had said, his mouth straightening into a sour expression.

“Can I see him?” I’s asked then.

“Of course you can see him. He’s not a criminal, Clint.” Steve had said from next to me.

“Cleo, go and put your coat on.” I’d said then, moving to stand.

“Clint.” Tony had interrupted. 

“What?” I’d said.

“I’ll look after Cleo.” He’d offered.

“No. No, we’ll be-” I’d started.

“SHIELD’s no place for a child and it’s getting late anyway.” Tony had continued and he had a point. Two of them, actually. I didn’t like the idea of Cleo being in that place anyway. It didn’t settle right.

“Are.. you sure?” I’d asked.

“Sure, I’m sure. Steve will drive you there.” Tony had said then. I glanced over at Steve who nodded his head.

“I can drive myself there.” I’d countered, I wasn’t completely useless, that‘s what I’d told myself.

“Let him.” Tony had said then, “He loves to protect and serve. It’s what he does best, plus, he’ll get you there in one piece. Guaranteed. Just in case you zone out again. Alright?” And I’d just nodded. He had a point, I hadn’t been having a great day concentration wise. 

“Cleo, will you stay here with your Uncle Tony? I’m going to pick Daddy up with Uncle Steve.” I’d said, walking over to Cleo and cupping her cheek against my palm.

“Daddy’s coming home now?” She’d said, her wide eyes staring up at me hopefully.

“You bet he is, angel. Just like I promised.” I’d said, bending down and moving my hands to her thighs.

“But it’s not morning.” She’d said in confusion. Because I’d promised her he’d be back by morning, hadn’t I?

“I know, sweetheart.” I’d said, “See, your Daddy didn’t take the car-”

“Because the Hulk is as big as the ceiling!” She’s said loudly, like she’d suddenly remembered something important, like she finally understood what was happening.

“That’s right, angel.” I’d smiled, “And when Daddy got to the bus stop he remembered that he had no money to get on.”

“Ohhhh! Silly Daddy!” She’d laughed.

“Yeah, silly Daddy, huh? So, I’ll see you later, okay?” I’d said, waiting for her to nod before I’d stood, leaving a lingering kiss in her hair.

“We’ll be fine, won’t we?” Tony had asked. 

“Uh-huh.” Cleo had smiled in affirmation.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I would have done if I-” I’d started to explain before Tony had cut me off with the wave of his hand.

“It’s fine. Get out of here. You’re cramping our style.” He’d said then.

“Can we play dress-up again, Uncle Tony?” Cleo had asked. Leaping off her chair and running over to him.

“Sure thing, kid.” Tony had said, patting her on the head, “My pedicure’s flaking off anyway. I’ll do yours if you do mine?” Cleo had nodded enthusiastically in reply and Steve had laughed.

“Come on.” he’d said to me then, a peculiar smile plastered on his face, “Let’s go.”

ooOoo

When we arrived, SHIELD HQ was it’s usual welcoming self. By which I mean it was full of dark suits, big guns and scientists wielding clipboards - not to mention the distant, but ever present, reverberation of tortured moaning. It made me glad that I‘d been keeping my distance. Being a full-time Avenger weighed a lot easier on my conscience, that’s for sure. 

No one questioned us as we walked through the building, no doubt they’d been expecting us and it’s not like we were strangers anyway. When Steve used his ID to open the main door, which lead rather conveniently to the cells, it had verbally welcomed him and popped open just in time for us to witness four agents dragging a handcuffed man towards a cell. Steve’s shoulders tensed for a moment before they relaxed again and he shook his head. And I remember feeling so relieved then. Relieved that Cleo was safe at home painting Tony’s toe nails. 

Steve had decided that he was going into Bruce’s cell first, he was convinced that it was the best idea and I wasn’t about to disagree with him. I just wanted to do whatever it was that meant Bruce would be home soon. I just wanted him back and if that meant sending Steve in first, so be it. This idea, he’d explained as we walked through corridors of tightly locked doors, came from his theory that if he went in first he’d get the brunt of Bruce’s anger or fear or confusion. If Bruce said something stupid out of panic he could deal with it, brush it under the carpet and walk away. He was right when he suggested it’d be harder for me to do the same. 

Eventually, we arrived at the cell marked G281. ‘G’ as in general threat. Next to the door there was a little whiteboard. On it, underneath the word ‘inmate’ it read ‘Dr. Bruce Banner’ and under the word ‘crime’ it read ‘Self-proclaimed threat to humanity’. Steve had spotted it just before I had, so, when my face had started falling into a heavy frown Steve was already using his cuff to rub the last part away. 

“I hate this place.” Steve had said then, “Will you be okay waiting out here?”

“Yeah.” I’d said, wondering what Bruce had been saying to get himself shut away. 

Steve unlocked the cell then - by entering a seven digit code into the keypad that was fixed on the wall and, as a green light flashed, the door clicked open. Steve pushed it an inch, knocked politely and stepped inside. Leaving it open just a fraction, so I could hear, but not see them.

“Bruce.” Steve had started, as I lent against the wall. Angling my head in a way that meant I’d be able to hear them talk.

“Bruce.” Steve had said again, his voice a little more commanding, “Bruce, look at me. Clint is outside and-”

“Tell him to go home.” Bruce had whispered then, in a stranger’s voice. He sounded awful, like a man who had given up, his tone was all wrong, he sounded hollow. He sounded nothing like the man who’d climbed into bed with me the night before. He sounded like I’d always imagined he must have, just before he’d shot himself in the face. Not knowing that the Hulk would save his life. Not realising that he couldn’t even control his own death.

“He’s not going to go away.” Steve had said then, dragging my thoughts back into the cell that contained my partner, “It’s time to put your shoes on and go home.”

“I don’t have a home.” Bruce had said then, so easily that my heart plummeted.

There was a pause then, a little gap where Steve just let the silence expand and suffocate us all. He was probably highly offended, on my behalf, of course. I could picture his face in my head, the way his jaw set when he disagreed with something. His words seemed to confirm my theory, “I’ve just come from your apartment. Clint is worried sick, your daughter-”

“Clint’s daughter.” Bruce had said then, his hoarse voice rushing over me like a ton of gravel. And I don’t know what happened next, I don’t remember moving or using my feet but suddenly Bruce was in front of me, hunched on the end of a flimsy bed and I was saying, “Our daughter. Bruce she’s _our_ daughter.”

“Clint.” Bruce had whispered painfully, like it hurt him to say my name, like it distressed him to draw the syllables together.

“I’ll be outside.” Steve had said then, leaving the cell and closing the door behind him, giving us privacy, giving us space to talk.

“Bruce,” I’d started, “I need you to come home.”

“I- I can’t.” He’d said then, his shoulders trembling. And I took him in, the way his body sagged, the way he kept his eyes down, the way he seemed to stutter over his own thoughts. The way he’d taken his shoes off and left them by the door. How the clothes that he was wearing were at least three sizes too big and made him look small. Too small. The way his fists were clenched - not in anger but in pain.

“Why not?” I’d said then, sitting next to him on the wafer-thin mattress.

“You know why not.” He’s responded sadly, almost looking over at me before he remembered that he wasn’t doing that and stopped himself.

“Bruce, whatever you think you did? It didn’t happen.” I’d tried to reassure him, reaching a hand out to his thigh. He flinched when I touched him. I could hear my own heartbeat. 

“Oh.” He’d said then, bitterly, jerking away from me, standing up quickly and pacing erratically around the small cell, “So, so, I didn’t turn into a monster? In front of Cleo? Inside our home? Home is meant to be our safe place, Clint. It’s meant to be _safe_!” He’d shouted sadly, turning to look at me for the first time, his arms jutting out in distress. His eyes wide and wild - not like those of a monster but those of a child. 

“Okay.” I’d said, reaching out a placating hand towards him, “Maybe some of that happened but it’s not as bad as you think it is. You don’t have to lock yourself away.”

“I’m a monster, Clint! Why can‘t- why can‘t you see that?” Bruce had shouted and then I’d stood up too, shaking my head.

“No, you’re not!” I’d promised.

“God, you’re so wrong! I’m-- I’m _disgusted_ with myself, Clint. With the-- with the fact that I live and breathe.” He pounded a heavy fist against his chest, “If I-- if I could finish it then I would. I _would_.” He’d concluded darkly and my eyes had filled up as my life started to fall apart. As Bruce fell apart; as I watched him unravel.

“Jesus, Bruce, do you even remember that I love you? That Cleo loves you? Do you even realise that you’re talking about leaving us alone?” I’d ground out then, as hot tears threatened to spill over my eyelids. 

“I-- I can see her.. her beautiful little face. Every time I close my eyes it‘s there.” Bruce had said.

“Cleo?” I’d whispered as a stray tear slipped down my cheek.

“She was so scared. I can see her crying and-- and screaming. She was shaking, Clint. And I-- I did that. I did that to our beautiful little girl. I did that.” He’d cried then, sadness dripping from his voice as he’d slid down onto the cold floor. 

“Bruce, I swear to God, she’s okay.” I’d tried, rubbing the back of my hand pointlessly across my face.

“Why are you doing this?” He’d whispered then, his voice straining, “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not lying to you. Bruce, I’m not. She’s at home right now, playing with Tony and wondering where her Daddy is.” I’d said sincerely.

“She’s probably still in shock.” Bruce had whispered then, as his cheeks started to glisten under the bright, artificial light.

“She was crying because of the thunder. Everything you saw, everything The Big Guy saw, it was the thunder. She wasn’t scared of him, just like I’m not scared of him.. because he’s a part of _you_.” I’d said tearfully.

“Right.” Bruce had said bitterly, “You want me to believe that she witnessed her-- her--”

“ _Daddy_.” I’d said, “That’s the word you’re looking for, Bruce.”

“She sees her-- her _Daddy_ \-- turn into something she has no idea about and you expect me to believe that she’s just peachy?” He’d said forlornly.

“That’s exactly what I expect you to believe.” I’d said as Bruce’s gaze lingered on me, “And she knows, all right? She knows about The Big Guy. She doesn’t care, she just wants you back. We need you. _I_ need you.”

“You-- y-you told her about me?” Bruce had said in astonishment, his body stiffening. An for a moment I’d swear his skin was tinged with green.

“Of course I told her. You weren’t going to and I wanted her to understand. And you can hate me for that. You can despise me for it but I just wanted her-- I just-- I wanted her to understand. She’s at school now, one of the kids would have said something eventually. I‘d rather we told her first. I‘d rather she learned the truth at home than in the playground via some rumour.” I’d tried to explain.

“But why would you-- he‘s _killed_ people.” Bruce had said in disgust.

“ _I’ve_ killed people, Bruce. And I had complete control over my mind and my body while I did it. Look, you’re not a monster, you’re a _hero_ and I just-- I wanted her to be proud, okay? I just.. I wanted her to be proud of our family. I wanted her to know who she is. I wanted her to be Cleo Banner-Barton, age six, with two dads who save the world. Not that one girl who doesn’t even know who her own family is.” I’d explained and Bruce had listened, staring up at me. I sat back down on the bed and put my head in my hands. 

There was silence for a moment and then, like a beacon of fucking hope, he’d said, “Promise me, Clint.” And I’d looked at him and held his gaze, for what must have been a full minute, before I’d said, “I promise, it’s okay.”

“Please, don’t be lying.” He’d begged.

“I’m not lying.” I’d promised.

“I’m sorry.” He’d cried then, as fresh tears slipped down his face, “I’m so sorry.”

“Just come home. Just come home to us.” I’d said then, as he’d pulled himself to his feet and moved to take a seat next to me, picking my hand up in his and pressing it against his lips.

“I was so scared.” He’d whispered against my knuckles.

“When you didn’t come home. I thought.. I thought--” I’d started miserably.

“Shh.” He’d pleaded then, “Please, just.. just hold me?”

And I’d pulled him against my chest then and I’d clung to him like I’d found something that I hadn’t even realised I’d misplaced. Because sometimes I see better from a distance and even though I know what I have, and how lucky I am, I can’t comprehend all that it is. That night, in that cell, everything was reaffirmed for me. Everything was right there for me to see. Everything that I felt.

We stayed pressed together for a while before I’d pulled away and suggested we go home and he’d just nodded in agreement. He looked exhausted. He walked over to his borrowed shoes and slipped them on before he turned back to me and held out his hand. I reached out and let our fingers entwine and when I pulled the door open Steve stood there with that soft smile on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce had said to Steve then. Steve who had just shrugged like it was nothing and said, “Not necessary. I’m just glad you’re going home.”

The drive was quiet, peaceful even, but by the time we got to our apartment Bruce was gripping my hand like a vice. 

“I’m nervous.” he’d said as we’d approached our door.

“You don’t have to be. Not here.” I’d reassured him and he’d smiled over at me. With a look that had said: I’m trying.

When we walked inside it was quiet, really quiet, but there was a soft hint of music coming from the living room. It lead us straight to a sleeping Tony and Cleo. Tony was sprawled out across the sofa, his newly painted toes hanging over the arm of the chair, Cleo was tucked at his side. Then, as if on cue, Tony had started to stir. Steve walked over to him and smiled down at his partner, “Come on, Tony, it’s time to get you to bed.” 

“Mm. That does sounds nice.” Tony had muttered then.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Stark.” Steve had laughed quietly, rolling his eyes for good measure.

“Sorry.” Tony had grinned then, before he’d looked down at Cleo and combed one of his hands through her hair. He looked around himself then, as if trying to work out how to move her without waking her.

“It’s okay.” Bruce had said, moving towards the sofa, “I’ve got her.” 

And as he leant down to pick Cleo up Tony had reached out and placed a friendly hand on his forearm, “Glad to have you home.” 

“I’m glad to be home.” Bruce had replied, as a blush flooded his face.

“Come on, find your shoes.” Steve had interrupted, fussing over Tony; half-leading him around the apartment.

“I’ll put her to bed.” Bruce had said, to no one in particular, cradling Cleo close to his chest.

“Okay. I’ll be in in a minute.” I’d said, as I’d followed Steve and Tony towards the door. 

“We can see ourselves out. Go and be with your family. I‘ll call you tomorrow.” Steve had said then, smiling over at me. I didn’t know what to say, so I’d just nodded as they slipped out of our apartment.

When I got to Cleo’s room it was empty, it didn’t take much for me to realise where they were. And when I’d walked into our bedroom, Cleo was lying in the centre of our bed. Bruce was covering her up and kissing her forehead. There was something so pure about it. Watching his love for her. When he noticed me watching him though, he’d frowned and self-consciously looked over at the boarded windows.

“We can fix it tomorrow. Let’s just sleep.” I’d said then and he’d nodded, slipping on his pyjamas and slipping into bed. A soft sigh of satisfaction slipping past his lips as he settled. I changed my clothes too, before I’d walked over to Bruce’s side of the bed and pressed my lips against his, “I love you.” I’d said then and I could feel him smiling beneath me.

“I love you too.” He’d replied, fighting off a yawn, before he’d reached out and brought my hand to his lips. Then, when he’d let my hand go, I walked around the bed and climbed in. Wriggling downwards until my head sunk comfortably into my pillow. Then I’d reached out, under the covers and found Bruce’s hand. Covering it with mine. And then I’d waited, I’d waited until Bruce was asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, before I let myself fall asleep too. 

And do you know how I felt as my eyes began to close? I felt lucky. I felt like the man who had it all. Because I did. Because I do. I have everything in the world that a man could ever want. And no misunderstanding was ever taking that away from me again. Not ever. Because I believe in heroes and I believe in love and my life is full of them both. And a man can’t ask for more than that. Can he?

ooOoo


End file.
